“You’d be surprised. I can be a good actor.”
Hurt flashed in her eyes, but quickly disappeared. “Yes. I know.” She walked back in the direction of the tent, and he followed her.
“What about your parents?” he asked.
“Well, my mom’s been emailing me with all kinds of wedding ideas. She’s going to need to be let down easy. But at least I won’t have to lie to them anymore.”
“That’s true.”
She continued toward the tent, but stopped abruptly before entering.
“Think you canactlike my fiancé for the rest of the evening? We still need to keep this performance going for a little bit longer.”
“I can do that,” he replied, his voice slightly hoarse.
“Great.” She spun and went back into the reception, but Karthik stayed right where he was.
He dropped his head into his hands and took a few shuddering breaths. He’d made the right decision. He knew that. But it still hurt like hell. He took another deep breath before dropping his hands. He allowed his practiced, controlled expression to fall back into place, then followed Meghna inside.
—
As Meghna walked over to the bar, she realized she had been wrong. Incredibly wrong. There was noherKarthik. He had turned out to be the person she had thought he was from the beginning. Cold. Unfeeling. Self-centered. He’d gotten what he needed out of this arrangement, and now he was done.
She looked around the room. The crowd had thinned since she’d last been in here. People must have started heading home. But even though the reception was winding down, the dance floor had only gotten rowdier. And she wasn’t surprised to see that Eric was front and center, leading a conga line around the room.
She asked the bartender for a shot of anything and took out her phone while she waited. She sent a quick text to Ankita.
Meghna: Can we talk later tonight? Karthik dumped me. Fake-dumped me. I don’t know.
The response was immediate.
Ankita: Do you need to talk now?
Meghna: No. Still at the wedding. Maybe in an hour?
Ankita: Call any time. I’ll be here.
Ankita: Also, he’s an ass.
Ankita: A maggot.
Ankita: A first-class buffoon.
Ankita: A wastrel!!
Meghna: Thanks.
Meghna put her phone away and downed the mystery shot in front of her. It tasted like gasoline. She didn’t care. She asked for another.
Then she went to join the conga line, forcing a smile onto her face.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Karthik. He wasn’t dancing. He was standing near the entrance, watching her. It probably looked odd for him to be by himself. To keep up the charade, Meghna probably needed to go over and join him. But right now, she didn’t care.
She’d talked a big game earlier about whether he could still pretend for the rest of the night, but she honestly didn’t have it in her. She couldn’t pretend anymore. She was done.
She was too disappointed. Angry. Upset. At him, but also at herself. Shouldn’t she have learned from her experience with Seth? Instead, she’d repeated the exact same mistake. She’d ignored all the things that bothered her, made excuses for his behavior, and created an imaginary version of him in her head. But that version of Karthik hadn’t been real.
None of it had been real.
